


All the Things We've Lost

by Dirade



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Confessions, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Dissociation, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Isolation, Miscommunication, POV Multiple, Phone Calls & Telephones, Platonic Relationships, Quarantine, Touch-Starved, Unreliable Narrator, Wack, You don't tell your friends you love them?, YouTube, barely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirade/pseuds/Dirade
Summary: Ethan struggles more than Mark realized during quarantine.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach & Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 88
Kudos: 859





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

> When I say that I thought this was going to be 2000 words tops...  
> Yes, I've risen from the dead for YouTuber RPFs. Unus Annus was calling my name. There's only so much time left.

Ethan hates this. It feels like the life he worked so hard to build is falling apart. He knows he should be thankful that he's safe, that the people he loves are safe, that he can work from home, that he has enough money to keep himself afloat and donate to charity, but he hates this. 

He's alone. That's the worst part of it. He can take the boredom and he can take the adjusting to life indoors, but it's the loneliness that kills him. 

Before all of this happened he was with people every day. He hung out with Mark to film Unus Annus, spent time with Mika, came home to have dinner with Kathryn. Now he only sees Mark through facetime. He's visited Mika to pick up and drop off Spencer, but never for very long. It's never enough. He's afraid to touch her, afraid that he'll be the reason she gets sick, afraid to hurt her. Kathryn went home to be with her family. And so Ethan is alone. 

For a while, that's okay. Seeing Mika occasionally, talking to Mark, calling friends: it isn't perfect, but it’s enough. It’s like eating just enough to stop his hunger; his stomach doesn't growl but he is never full. 

And then it gets worse. Cases in their area spike. He and Mika decide to let Spencer stay at Mika's for the time being since she has a little more space. People are getting busier, more afraid. No one is answering his calls. Ethan can't even go out to the store anymore, just getting groceries and necessities delivered. 

He hasn't left his house in three days. Ethan gets up, showers, streams, films with Mark, and is left with hours and hours of time to fill at the end of the day. 

The days start to blend together. Time blurs. It's been a week since he's left his house. 

It feels like he's forgetting things. He barely remembers streams as soon as they're done - it doesn't feel like interacting with people, it feels like staring at a screen. He keeps trying to find Spencer when it's time for his walk only to realize that Spencer's not here, noone is here, and he's alone. 

Two more days pass and Ethan can't remember what day of the week it is. Is he supposed to call Mark today? He tries to start a TV show he never got around to, watch a movie he missed in theaters, catch up on some YouTube videos, but he can't focus on anything for more than five minutes. It feels like his brain is melting. He checks his calendar. He has to call Mark tomorrow. 

He sleeps in. He doesn't work out and he doesn't shower. When it's time to stream he doesn't even bother to brush his teeth, just logs on in his pajamas. His video goes up late. He goes to bed at 7pm and sleeps until the next day. 

It's been two weeks since he's left his house. There's a layer of dust on the windowsill. He drags a finger through it but doesn't clean it. Dirty dishes are stacked in the sink. Kathryn's not here to yell at him, so why should it matter? It's 8pm and he realizes he hasn't eaten. He goes to the cabinet and grabs a box of crackers. He only eats two before he starts to feel sick. He drinks half a glass of water and goes to bed. 

He sleeps through his streaming time. He wakes up to 15 texts asking where he was. He doesn't answer them. He goes to the bathroom and starts filling the tub while he brushes his teeth and washes his face. He scrolls through Instagram as he waits for it to fill. He doesn't like any photos, doesn't even look at them, just scrolls and scrolls until the images blur together. He stops the water when it's about halfway full and takes his clothes off. He thinks about getting a change of clothes for afterwards, but he doesn't. When he steps in, the water is ice cold. He didn't turn the faucet to hot water. He lays down in it anyway. He stays there for three hours. 

He wakes up at 6am and films videos for the next five days. He apologizes to his friends for being MIA and says he's taking a short break from daily streaming. Mika calls and they talk for 2 hours. When she hangs up Ethan stares at the wall until it's time to call Mark. They film videos for the next 3 days. Mark hangs up and Ethan starts to make himself dinner. It takes an hour for him to cut the carrots because he keeps forgetting what he's doing and staring into space. He thinks he's losing time. He puts them in the oven and sets a timer on his phone while he naps on the couch. When the timer goes off he gets up and pulls the carrots out. They're not cooked. He never turned the oven on. He leaves them on the counter and goes back to sleep. 

He wakes up on his couch. His phone says it's noon. He preheats the oven and lays on the floor of his kitchen while he waits for it to heat up. Mika calls him, but he doesn't answer it. The oven dings and he puts the carrots in. He sets another timer. Time disappears until the timer goes off. He takes the carrots out and turns the oven off. He leaves them to cool on the stovetop and goes to his computer. He edits videos until 3am. When he goes to grab some carrots, they're cold. 

It's been 3 weeks since he's left his house. At 5am he watches the sun start to rise. He stares out the window and thinks of all the things he's lost. His eyes start to burn. He schedules his upcoming videos to post automatically. Mark calls him to film some more Unus Annus videos. Once the call is over, Ethan stares at the screen until tears start to run down his face. He goes back to sleep. 

He doesn't do anything at all. He doesn't have to stream, his channel and Unus Anus are set to post, and no one calls him. The world feels dim, like someone dialed down the opacity until only a thin veneer of reality lays atop the fog. He pulls the blankets off of his bed and makes a nest in the closet. He curls up in the dark and listens to his own breathing. 

He wakes up to Mark calling him. 

"Mark…?" Ethan says into the phone. His voice cracks. 

"Yeah, man," replies the familiar voice. "What the hell is going on? I sent you like 10 texts. Mika said you weren't answering her calls." 

Ethan rubs at his eyes. He can barely process the words coming through the phone. The sounds are starting to mean less and less. "I… uh…" 

"Is something going on?" Mark asks. "Is this why you aren't streaming anymore?" 

"I - sorry -" Ethan tries to focus on Mark's voice, but he's just so tired. 

"Are you okay? I know it's been hard for you, especially with Kathryn gone, but you know you can always call me if you need to, right?" 

Ethan hums but doesn't give any more of a response. He staggers to his feet as Mark starts talking again, pushing open the door of the closet. The sunlight hits his eyes with a painful brightness. His head aches. "Feel weird…" he tries to say to Mark, massaging his temples. 

"What does?" Mark asks. He might sound worried. Or maybe he's angry. Ethan can't really tell. "You should drink some water. When's the last time you ate?" 

"Ate?" Ethan echoes, squeezing his eyes shut. It feels like his brain is one big ball of yarn that's started to fray, coming apart as each tiny thread is pulled. 

"Yeah," Mark says, the sound of his voice tinny and distant. "Ate like real food, not just shitty snacks." 

Ethan's head feels like it's too heavy to hold up. When he opens his eyes his vision won't focus. "What was the question?" he slurs, collapsing to sit on his bed as his knees give out beneath him. 

"Focus, Ethan, please." 

"I - I'm  _ trying, _ " Ethan whines. He's gripping the phone so tightly that the edges of it are digging into his palm. He's trying so hard, all the time, but he  _ can't.  _ He's just so tired. 

"Just concentrate on my voice. Can you tell me the last time you ate?" Mark sounds angry. Or does he? He doesn't sound happy. He's probably angry. 

Ethan's head throbs in pain. "I can't… rem'ber..." he forces out, the words thick on his tongue. 

"Ethan -" The rest of the sentence is drowned out by the ringing in Ethan's ears. 

What can Ethan do? He doesn't want Mark to be angry. He doesn't want Mark to be angry with him. He should stop bothering Mark. 

"I have to go," Ethan says. 

Mark starts to say something else, almost yelling. "Wait, don't -" He must be really angry now. Ethan should leave him alone. Ethan hangs up. 

The house feels too quiet without Mark's voice, too empty without Kathryn, too still without Spencer. 

Ethan wants to scratch his skin off. The world feels huge. The world feels like it's collapsing in around him. 

It feels like the past three weeks are suddenly piling on top of him, like every emotion and fear that left him hollow and bereft just hours ago is suddenly crashing back over him like a tsunami, so fierce and consuming that he could choke on it. 

He stands up, limbs tingling, nausea building in his throat. There's a harsh buzzing in his head - no, in the room - his phone is buzzing. 

Mark's calling him again. The noise just makes him feel more sick, so he silences his phone. It's like he can still hear it ringing. His walls are buzzing now, vibrating angrily. He needs to get out of this room. 

He gets downstairs, but the house feels loud, and full. Every bit of the endless emptiness is crammed to bursting. He feels like he's splitting open, like he's outgrowing his skin. 

Everything hurts. This is the most he's felt in weeks and the sheer sensory overload of it is frying his nerves. His fingers tingle. His face feels hot. 

He stumbles over to the kitchen sink. The world is starting to blur, each piece bleeding into the next until every familiar sharp line and curve of his house vanishes. He turns the faucet on and splashes some water on his face. For a split second he's worried that he'll dissolve under the moisture, that he'll start dripping into the soupy mess around him until he disappears altogether. He turns the faucet off. 

The world is too bright. His teeth ache. He's still so tired… 

He folds himself into a corner of the couch, tucking his head between the cushions until he can only see black. His heart is beating jackrabbit-fast in his chest, like it's trying to outrun his skin. There's a burning just behind his sternum. Ethan closes his eyes and listens to the relentless pounding of blood in his ears. 

He doesn't know how much time passes, but the pounding gets louder and louder. It sounds real. It sounds less like blood in his veins and more like fists against a door. He thinks he hears yelling. But that can't be right. He's alone. He's alone in this big empty house and alone in the world and alone with his thoughts. He presses his hands over his ears and tries to ignore the sounds. 

The hand on his shoulder registers as violently as an electric shock. He whips around, swallowing down the static that fills his body. Mark is standing in front of him, crouched beside the couch. No, that can’t be right. Mark isn’t here. No one is here. Ethan’s alone. 

Ethan stares at what can only be a mirage in front of him, his vision focusing and blurring as he tries to concentrate. It’s not real. It can’t be real. Then Mark touches him again, just a brush of fingertips over his arm, but the sensation burns across every one of Ethan’s nerves, turning his bones to red-hot embers. He flinches away, gasping. 

“M-Mark…?” he asks, wavering, because this can’t be true. This can’t be right. Ethan is alone. 

“Yeah, it’s me, Ethan. I was worried about you. I am worried about you.” It’s Mark’s voice. It’s Mark’s face. It’s Mark. It’s too real not to be Mark. But… 

“You - you’re not supposed to be here,” Ethan says. His insides burn. 

“I know, but you just hung up and I wasn’t sure -” 

“No, no -” Ethan cuts in, louder this time. “You - you’re the one who said we can’t see each other. You said I couldn’t come over -” 

“I know, but this is different. I thought you -” 

“No, that’s not -” Ethan’s body aches. It feels like his chest is being compressed, like it’s folding in on itself. “I wanted to see you! You can’t - that’s not fair…” 

“Ethan, listen to me, I thought -” 

“You’re changing the rules!” Ethan screams it. He has to, if he wants to hear it over the blaring sirens reverberating in his skull. “That’s not - you can’t - I wanted to see you and - and you said that I had to wait. You said I had to be alone and I - you don’t get to change the rules! I was doing good! I was - I did -” Ethan tries to get up, but his limbs feel like they’re in the wrong places, too long and too short. He’s out of breath. 

“Hey, hey, calm down, I know it’s not fair.” Mark grabs Ethan’s hand, interlocking their fingers, pressing their palms together. It makes Ethan’s skin tingle. “I shouldn’t have said that, but I need you to -” 

“You said - you said…” Ethan tries to keep talking, but the words feel heavy in his mouth. He’s distracted by Mark’s touch, staring at their hands as he tries to remember what to say. 

“Take a deep breath. Can you do that for me?” Mark asks. He squeezes Ethan’s hand and the pulse of it echoes through Ethan’s whole arm. 

“I don’t… You can’t…” The words keep getting lost in the cotton that fills Ethan’s mind. His head throbs. 

“Breathe, Ethan, c’mon.” Mark pulls Ethan’s other hand away from the cushions and places it over his heart. Beneath his hand, Ethan can feel the rise and fall of Mark’s chest. 

Ethan breathes in. The tightness in his chest lessens. 

“Yeah, that’s good, in and out, buddy,” Mark says. 

Ethan tries again, breathing in and out even as the air shakes in his lungs. He closes his eyes, breathing in deep. His next exhale comes out as a sob. 

“I wanted…” The words are thick in his mouth, but he has to say them, he has to tell Mark what happened even if it means vomiting his guts on to the floor. “I wanted to see you, but you said,” he sniffles, “you said that we shouldn’t so I - I stayed home and I did what I was ‘posed to because you - you  _ said. _ ” Ethan has to stop. It feels like he’s choking. Tears blur his vision. 

“I know, I know,” Mark says, soft. He comes up to sit next to Ethan on the couch, wrapping his friend up in his arms and pulling him until Ethan is curled up in his lap. His arms circle Ethan’s body and his chin rests on Ethan’s head. 

Ethan feels encompassed by him, surrounded. He presses his face into Mark’s shirt as more tears flood his eyes. 

“You did so good,” Mark continues, voice rumbling through Ethan’s whole body. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I should have known that -” 

Ethan shakes his head, turning his face so his voice isn’t muffled. “No, I was… I was okay, it’s just - cause we only talk for video stuff and I didn’t want to be - to bother you. And I should have - I was fine I just can’t - it’s been so long since someone - it just makes me feel weird. My ears are ringing and I feel sick and my skin feels… wrong.” 

“Ethan…” Mark’s arms tighten around him, like he’s pressing Ethan together. “I’m sorry. I wish I could - what can I do to help you?” He sounds so earnest when he says it, almost desperate. 

“Just -” Ethan’s breath hitches. He sniffles again, screwing his eyes shut. “I just don’t want you to be mad…” He gets out. The truth of it pulls another sob from his throat. “Can we just… can we just stay like this? For a little?” 

“Whatever you want.” 

Ethan wants to stay awake. He wants to soak in this moment while he gets it, he wants to remember this warmth before he has to go back to being alone, but he’s just so tired. Exhaustion weighs heavy in his bones. Each new breath saps his energy. The buzzing under his skin is dissipating, a prickling numbness that he didn’t even register until it started to bleed away. He feels safe here. It would be so easy to just let himself rest. 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but suddenly he’s blinking himself awake. He usually wakes up cold but his skin feels fever hot, almost uncomfortable. All at once he remembers what happened, registering the feeling of Mark’s arms around him. He raises his head to see Mark gazing down at him, something gentle in his dark eyes. 

“How -” Ethan’s voice cracks. He swallows and tries again. “How long was I asleep?” 

“Only fifteen minutes,” Mark replies, putting his phone down. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked like you needed it.” 

Ethan sighs, resting his head back on Mark’s shoulder. He does feel a little better, calmer, at least. The ache that filled his body has all but disappeared, but he’s still tired. It feels like he’s always tired these days, just as ready to get something done as he is to crawl back under the sheets and stay there. 

“How do you feel?” Mark asks. His thumb rubs small circles into Ethan’s skin. The sensation makes it hard to think. 

“Tired,” Ethan mumbles, eyes drifting shut. 

Mark jostles him a little, wiggling to sit more upright. “Why don’t we try and get some dinner going? I don’t want you to ruin your sleep schedule by napping again.” 

Ethan doesn’t mention that he barely has a sleep schedule anymore, or that it doesn’t matter if he naps now or later because he doesn’t have anything planned for the next week. Instead he watches Mark get up and extend a hand. Ethan grabs on, letting Mark pull him to his feet. As he stands, Ethan’s vision goes hazy. Black creeps in from his peripherals until he can’t see anything. He sways, holding on to Mark. When his sight comes back, Mark is staring at him. Ethan lets go of his hand abruptly, moving toward the kitchen. 

As soon as he’s not touching Mark anymore his skin starts to feel weird again, numb and hypersensitive all at once. Everything feels slightly off, like he’s staring through a sheet of glass that renders everything in excruciating detail but a little to the left. He leans on his countertop, the cold of the granite against his back skipping and repeating in an endless loop. He feels like he’s walking around in an avatar of his own body. This isn’t his world, or this isn’t the real world, or he’s not real, or something. 

He rubs at his forehead. “What were we doing?” 

“Getting you something to eat…?” Mark says, raising an eyebrow. Ethan can’t tell if he sounds angry. It doesn’t really matter. 

Mark opens the cupboard, rummaging around and coming up empty handed. "You barely have any food in here." Mark turns to Ethan, brow furrowed. "When's the last time you went grocery shopping?" 

Ethan shrugs. "Jus' get everything delivered now," he answers around a yawn. 

Mark tilts his head ever so slightly. "You don't even…? When's the last time you left this house?" 

Ethan shrugs again. His brain feels slow and crowded, full of cotton that he has to push away just to keep the conversation on track. "I dunno. A few weeks? I thought I wasn't supposed to." 

"Not even for a walk, though? Or errands?" Mark presses. "Like, you haven't gone outside for weeks?" 

There's so many questions that Ethan can barely focus on them all. He rubs at his eyes as he answers, trying to remember what the question was. "No… " he mumbles. "'Cause I wasn't supposed to." He resists the urge to point out, yet again, that these were words explicitly out of Mark's mouth. 

“But you could have just walked around. Or sat in the park. You can go outside and just, like, not interact with people.” 

“You told me not to!” Ethan bursts out. Just those few words feel like they suck the air out of him. Immediately, the anger that had been twinging at the base of his skulls is replaced by that same slow exhaustion. He doesn’t look at Mark when he speaks again. “Can I go lay down?” 

There’s a beat of silence and Ethan wonders if Mark is mad. When Mark speaks he doesn’t sound mad, though. He sounds tired. “Yeah… yeah.” Ethan is halfway to the couch when Mark says, “Actually, can you sit at the table? I… just stay where I can see you, okay?” 

Ethan nods, flopping down into a chair and putting his head on his arms. He’s barely closed his eyes when there’s a tap on his shoulder. He raises his head to see Mark holding out a glass. “Water?” Mark asks. 

Ethan thinks about it, then shakes his head. 

Mark grimaces, fidgets. He starts to say something, stops, then starts again. “Can you just try to have some? I think it’ll help.” 

Ethan doesn’t really know what it’s supposed to help, but at this point he doesn’t really know much of anything, so he does what Mark says. He takes the glass, expecting Mark to go back into the kitchen, or at least sit down, but Mark just stares down at him, unmoving. 

Ethan takes a small sip of the water. It’s cool and fresh on his tongue, soothing, and he feels it work its way down through his body. As it coils in his stomach, he feels a little sick. He doesn’t really want to drink any more, but Mark’s still staring at him, so he forces himself to get down another mouthful. Mark turns back around at that, apparently satisfied, and Ethan puts the glass down. He doesn’t feel nauseous, not exactly, but his body feels wrong, like it wants to dispel whatever he put inside it. But Mark wanted him to drink it, so he nurses the drink as he listens to Mark move around the kitchen. 

It’s almost surreal to hear someone else in the house. Sure, Ethan blasts his music almost deafeningly loud, but this is something so different than the artificial noise from a speaker. It’s nice. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes before Mark sits down across from him, putting down a plate with apple slices on it. He glances at Ethan’s half-full cup of water and he’s stirring a small container of microwavable mac and cheese. “I know it’s kinda of a weird combination, but it’s the best I could do,” Mark says with a stunted laugh. Ethan shrugs, looking down at the food. A few moments pass before Mark speaks again. “You, uh, should eat something.” 

Ethan looks at him, then back to the food. He sighs quietly before picking up an apple slice and biting into it. 

“When’s the last time you ate?” Mark asks. The question sounds familiar, but Ethan can’t remember why. 

Ethan just shrugs again. He tries to think. He doesn’t remember having anything yesterday. And the day before that… it seems so far away now, but he thinks he had the last of the crackers. He remembers carefully picking out a handful of blueberries that weren’t starting to grow mold like the rest. He was too tired to make himself anything more substantial than that. “A day…” Ethan mumbles. “A couple days.” 

“Ethan…” Mark murmurs. Ethan waits for him to say something, but Mark is just looking at him. There’s something shimmering in his eyes. Sadness? Disappointment? Ethan tries not to think about it and goes back to eating his apple. 

By the time he’s finished the last slice and had a little more water, the fog has started to lift. Ethan feels like he’s returning to his skin for the first time in days. The world gets sharper as he wolfs down the mac and cheese, and the feeling is starting to come back into his hands as Mark gets him another glass of water. Ethan’s still hungry once he’s finished it all, but he’s also starting to feel actually, legitimately nauseous now, not in the abstract way but in the ‘stop eating or you’ll regret it’ kind of way. It’s probably best that he stops now. 

"I feel… better," Ethan says. "Still weird, but better." 

Mark smiles. Ethan thinks that's the first time Mark has smiled since he walked in the door. "Good," Mark replies. "I think you were probably a little malnourished, dehydrated. That kind of thing really fucks with your head." 

Ethan nods, but stops when it makes his head start to spin. He lets out a jaw-cracking yawn. "Can I go to bed?" It feels a little weird to essentially ask Mark for permission, but Mark already said that he shouldn't take a nap, so what if he's not supposed to go to sleep yet either? He doesn't want Mark to be mad. Not that listening to Mark has worked out great so far - Ethan did everything he was supposed to and Mark still got upset. It's confusing and unfair, but Ethan's trying to do better. 

Mark glances at the clock, then looks back to Ethan. "Uh, yeah. Why don't you get ready while I clean this stuff up?" 

Ethan gives a little thumbs up before he heads upstairs. He hears the clatter of dishes and the sound of running water as he changes into pajamas and realizes that Mark is washing not just today's dishes, but about a week's worth of sink clutter. He thinks about going back down to help, but even the thought of doing so drains his energy. It's all he can do to make himself wash up and brush his teeth. 

By the time he goes back to his room he finds Mark sitting on his bed, tapping away at his phone. As soon as Ethan enters, Mark puts it away, standing up to greet him. "Hey, I noticed that you don't have any blankets?" Mark says, gesturing to the fitted sheet and pillows that remain the only things on his bed frame. 

"Oh." Ethan goes over to his closet, pulling his blankets off the floor and tossing them on to his bed. 

"Why're they… nevermind," Mark says as Ethan straightens the sheets. "Do you have any pajamas I can wear?" 

Ethan looks up, eyes meeting Mark's. "Why?" 

"I'm staying the night," Mark replies, like it's obvious. 

Ethan cocks his head. "... Why?" 

"Cause I'm worried about you…" Mark says, drawing the words out like he expects Ethan to finish his sentence. "And I want to make sure you're okay. Cause I'm your friend and I care about you." 

Ethan's chest feels tight. He can feel frost creeping across his ribcage. He's not sure what he wants to say, what he really thinks, but something about Mark's words doesn't sit right with him. He finishes fixing the blankets, turning to face Mark completely. A thousand words come to mind, but none of them encompass everything he wants to say. "Don't lie," he settles on. 

“Excuse me?” Mark asks. His voice is sharp and Ethan has never felt more sure in his life. 

“I said, don’t lie,” Ethan repeats. “I haven’t even missed a day of recording. It’s not like I’m going to stop making Unus Annus videos with you. It’s fine that you wanted to come check, I know I’m not always the most reliable person, but you don’t need to lie about it.” 

“Is that what you think this is about?” The question is loud, harsh. Ethan just wants to go to sleep, but he has to finish this. “You think I’m here because… because I’m worried that you won’t get the next video out on time?” 

Ethan’s body feels heavy. “Do we have to do this right now?” he asks. It’s not like this is something new. He knew as soon as they started this channel together, as soon as he came out to LA, as soon as he was born. He knows that Mark knows this too. 

“Yeah, we do, because you - you -” Ethan can tell Mark is getting frustrated, stumbling over his words. Ethan doesn’t understand why this is such a big deal. “Ethan, why do you think I’m here?” 

Ethan crosses his arms, letting his gaze drift from Mark’s face to the floor. This feels like a test. Why is Mark mad at him? Did he do something wrong? This is the premise of their entire relationship; he doesn’t understand why Mark would be mad that Ethan is just stating the truth. “You wanted to make sure that I was okay so we can keep the channel going. We have to post every day so I get why, but…” Ethan hesitates. He wants to defend himself, but he doesn’t want to make Mark more upset. “We have stuff for the next few days already and - and I got all my editing stuff done so… I don’t know why you’re mad at me.” He looks back up at Mark, whose mouth is hanging slightly ajar. “I’m gonna be fine. It’s not going to - I can still film so I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.” 

Mark just stares at him before literally taking a step back, running his hands through his hair. “A big… You don’t think it’s a big deal?” He sounds incredulous, condescending. “How could you - You’re a fucking disaster!” 

Ethan flinches. Not that he didn’t already know that, but it’s the first time Mark has said it so bluntly. Not on camera, not for a bit, but for real. 

Mark’s face falls. “That’s not - you know I didn’t mean that. I just - You’re not okay right now, man. You can’t act like you don’t know that. You hadn't eaten in two days. I can’t just let you…” Mark groans, rubbing at his temples as he closes his eyes. He turns away from Ethan, facing the wall. 

“Why not?” Ethan presses, unfolding his arms. “I’m still getting my job done, so it’s fine -” 

“Because I’m your fucking friend!” Mark yells, whirling back around. “Don’t you get that? Cause I fucking care about you and I don’t know why you’re -” He gestures helplessly at Ethan, face contorted. He looks like he’s in pain. 

Ethan doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t know why they have to do this. “Don’t lie,” he says again. 

Mark’s voice cracks when he speaks. “What do you think I’m lying about?” 

“We’re not friends.” 

Mark’s face breaks open. His eyes glitter. “How can you say that?” 

Ethan shrugs. Looking at Mark’s face is starting to make his chest ache. “We’re just… not.” 

“Ethan, I -” 

“Don’t.” Ethan sighs. He sits down on the bed and fixes his gaze on the floor. He just wants to sleep. “Just… don’t. I know what you’re going to say and I… Mark, I want -” He feels his throat start to close. He can’t say it. He can’t say that he wishes, more than anything, that he really meant something to Mark. He takes a deep breath, reins it back in. “We work together. I do things for you and you do things for me. I do my job and I know that you appreciate that, and I’m glad you do, but that’s not what friends are. I knew when I came out here what this was going to be. And it’s been great.” He finally looks up at Mark, but the tears in Mark’s eyes force him to look away again. “Really. These have been the best years of my life. But I know that you brought me out here for a reason. To do certain things. And that’s okay, but it’s not… we don’t have to pretend like it’s something else.” 

Mark pulls the chair out from Ethan’s desk and all but collapses into it. Ethan watches as he buries his face in his hands. 

Ethan’s eyes burn. He wants Mark to understand. “You only call me to talk about videos. You don’t even know my birthday. I know you think I’m an idiot. It’s okay, Mark. Really, it is, but that’s… we’re not friends. We’re just not.” 

Mark lifts his face. His skin is blotchy, eyes wet and red. When he speaks, his voice distorts. “Is that really what you think?” 

Ethan doesn’t answer. He feels so confused, so far away. He feels like he’s floating inside his body. Nothing feels real. 

They sit like that for a while. Ethan listens to Mark’s rough sobs turn in hiccups, but he doesn’t really hear anything. When the sounds have tapered down to heavy breathing, Ethan speaks up again. “Do you still need pajamas?” 

Mark wipes at his eyes, sniffling. “Do you want me to stay?” 

“If you want,” Ethan replies, his eyes drifting to the wall. When Mark doesn’t move to leave, he continues, “Pajamas are in the bottom drawer. There’s an extra toothbrush under the sink if you want it.” Distantly, he’s aware of Mark getting up, of the sound of water running in the bathroom, but mostly he just lets the world blur as he stares at the floor. 

He starts when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks up he sees Mark. He looks almost back to normal except for the tell tale redness in the corners of his eyes. 

“Can I hug you?” Mark asks. 

Ethan nods, standing. Mark’s arms wrap around him, tight and encompassing. Ethan’s skin seethes, then settles. Mark’s warm and solid and  _ real.  _ Ethan feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, even though he’s not sure why. Mark’s fingers dig into Ethan’s sides, clinging to him, like he’s afraid to let him go. Ethan wraps his arms around Mark and holds on as tightly as he can. It feels like he’s drowning, but he’s not in pain. 

“I love you.” Mark’s voice rumbles through Ethan’s body, coils in his bones and glows with warmth. 

Ethan almost says something. He almost says ‘I wish that were true.’ He almost says ‘I know.’ But he doesn’t say anything. Instead he just holds Mark tighter and thinks about all the things he’s lost, all the things he has, the life ahead of him and the life behind him. 

He doesn’t say anything as he crawls into bed, as Mark settles down beside him. He doesn’t say anything when Mark interlocks their hands. He doesn’t say anything as he stares at the ceiling, Mark’s gaze burning into the side of his head. He sleeps. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intend to write a second chapter to this where things are actually resolved because I'm always a sucker for a happy ending, but I just HAD to get this out there. Time is running out. Momento Mori.  
> Let me know what you think <3


	2. and

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Ethan are different in a lot of ways. At times like this, the chasm between them feels wider than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked for the next chapter to be in Mark's POV, and while I didn't want to do that completely, I thought that was a super interesting idea, so here's a little look into Mark's mind!   
> This chapter can basically be skipped if you're not interested, as it's mostly about Mark's inner dialogue and doesn't really involve ongoing events in the plot. If you do read it, however, I hope you enjoy this look at the other side of things. I wanted to portray Mark as something more than someone who is purely a recipient for Ethan's emotions. He has his own struggles and rationale, and this doesn't make him a better or worse person than anyone else; it makes him human, and complicated, and valid. I hope I communicated that in this chapter.   
> Also, since this was kind of an add in, this work will now be three chapters, with the final one and resolution in Ethan's POV.   
> Enjoy!

Ethan sleeps for a long time. 

By 9am Mark can't stay in bed any longer, an itch starting under his skin that he can't seem to shake. He looks down at his Ethan, whose face is lax and peaceful in sleep. He doesn't stir as Mark extricates himself from the sheets. 

Mark stretches, joints popping. He grabs his phone, which is almost dead, and shoots a quick text to Amy, letting her know that he's up and that Ethan is still asleep. He texted her when Ethan was napping last night to let her know he was staying over, but he hasn't really had the time to explain the full situation to her. He considers calling her, but decides it would be better to discuss it in person. Plus, he should probably check in with Ethan just in case he feels embarrassed about the whole thing. 

After sparing another quick look at Ethan, who still seems deeply asleep, Mark washes up and heads downstairs, plugging his phone into a spare charger in the kitchen. He pulls the fridge open, intending to whip up some eggs or at least get himself a bowl of cereal, only to be reminded that there's literally no food in the house. He sighs, grabbing his phone to put in a delivery order for some burritos and taking out a slightly squishy apple. He cuts away the worst of the bruising and surveys the house, debating what he should do next. 

All things considered, the house isn't in as awful shape as it could be. Sure, the table is a little cluttered and some of Spencer's toys are strewn across the floor, but for the most part it's only Ethan that seems to have fallen apart. It's livable. But… Mark doesn't have anything better to do. 

Once he's finished his apple, he gets started. He puts Spencer's toys away, sweeps, wipes down the counter, empties the drying rack of dishes that he cleaned yesterday, throws out any food that's fully inedible, straightens up the table, and takes out the trash and recycling. He finally sprays some air freshener, smiling at his hard work. It looks good. Clean. Healthy. 

He looks at the clock. 10:30. 

He puts the cleaning supplies away, orders some basic groceries to be delivered to Ethan’s house, and flops down on the couch. It's 10:45. He doesn't know what else to do. 

He browses Instagram, Twitter, checks his analytics and email. It's 11:00. He debates putting something on, but he doesn't want the noise to wake Ethan up. He considers booting up a game and faces the same problem. Someone rings the doorbell and Mark leaps up to get it. The person is already walking away by the time he opens the door. He takes the delivery and puts it on the counter. The clock says 11:05. 

He doesn't know what to do. He needs to do  _ something _ . A jittery unease creeps through his veins. He wants to shake it out, to jump, to run, but there's nowhere to go. What is he going to do? 

He sits back down on the couch, putting his head in his hands. He doesn't want to do this. He knows what's about to happen and it fills him with dread. He'd rather go workout, clean the house, walk his dog, cook a meal, anything to get away from the suffocating feeling that creeps up his spine. He doesn't want to think about it, he doesn't want to deal with it, but there's nothing left to do. He has to work through this now, before Ethan gets up. 

Ethan. The thought of his friend makes Mark's throat close. Ethan, who was alone in this house for weeks before Mark finally came over. Ethan, who was falling apart without Mark even noticing. That's what haunts Mark the most, a whisper in the back of his mind that hasn't left since he arrived at Ethan's house. Mark didn't even know. It was happening right in front of him, there in every phone call and awkward laugh, every missed text and offhand complaint. Ethan was right there and Mark barely even noticed. Sure, he knew that Ethan wasn't having a  _ great _ time during quarantine, but he had no idea it had gotten this bad. 

Part of Mark wonders why Ethan didn't just say something, didn't just ask for help. Another part of him wonders if Ethan did say something and Mark just missed it, if his friend asked for help only for Mark to ignore him. The truth is, Mark doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to deal with it. He's sick of being the person that people turn to in crisis. He's sick of holding onto other people's pain. He doesn't want his friend to be unhappy, but more than that, he doesn't want to be responsible for fixing it. 

Mark's competitive streak is a mile wide. Everyone knows that. Just like everyone knows that he's fiercely loyal and protective of those he loves. How can he live with himself if this is the one problem he can't solve? How can he look at himself in the mirror if he doesn't give absolutely everything he has so he can save someone? 

But the truth… the truth is that he's done that. He's given all of himself so many times before. He's ripped himself apart just to spare someone else and he can't do that anymore. He doesn't want to do that anymore. 

He decided a long time ago that he had to live for himself. The world is always in pain. He hears it, sees it, constantly. But he decided a long time ago to listen, and help when he could, but not to try and shoulder that pain alone. He's no Atlas. He's only a man. And deep, deep down, he believes that he deserves to be happy. Even if that happiness means he can't help everybody. Even if that happiness means putting himself first. It took him a long time to get there, but he truly believes that he deserves to be happy. 

It's one of the things he hates most about himself. 

He's tried to let go of guilt. For every person he's helped, he knows there's someone he's hurt. He's heard so many people scream his name that he's gone deaf to their cries. So many hands reach out to him that they blur into nothing more than the endless brilliance of the horizon. He can't help everyone. 

That used to tear him up inside. It used to haunt him. He'd spend hours scrolling through the comments and messages, the people begging for help, for anything, until the screen had imprinted itself on his vision. He'd lay awake at night and think that he could hear them, that he could hear children pleading with him to just turn around, to just give them the time of day. He knows he's lost people. He knows because he hears them in his dreams, sees their reflection in the mirror, feels the phantom memory of warmth on his hands. But he can't help everyone. 

He can't feel guilt for every voice that he didn't answer, the millions of pairs of eyes that he hasn't looked back to, the endless screaming that he can never escape. He wonders if this is why God doesn't answer people's prayers. 

He can't feel guilt for these things. It would destroy him. He has to live for himself, he has to  _ live,  _ and this is the only way he can keep moving forward. 

But in moments like this, it destroys him anyway. 

Mark has a thick skin. He doesn't internalize what people on the internet say, what tabloids spread, what strangers think of him. Haters and fans alike are separate from him, consciously put aside for him to deal with when and if he feels like it. He hears them, he listens, but their words don't echo in his skull, don't rattle around inside him like they used to. He doesn't hold on to them. He doesn't hold on to anything. It's the only way he can survive. If he kept every token, saved every letter, held every hand, he'd drown beneath them. 

At least, that's what he tells himself when he feels that familiar presence at his back, that phantom press of voices that he's learned to tune out. How else can he live with himself? 

But in moments like this, where a  _ friend  _ tells him what he did wrong… It's a voice he can't ignore. This is someone he cares about, someone he  _ loves  _ and to have let Ethan of all people down is devastating. When Ethan came out to LA, young and inexperienced and excited, Mark had promised himself that he'd do right by him, that he would give this kid, this former fan, the support and friendship that he needed to thrive. It was repentance, redemption, renewal. It was a failure. 

He let Ethan down. Not for the first time, Mark's policy of dealing with separate things at separate times backfired spectacularly, and he's not sure if he should blame the plan for being faulty or himself for not following the plan. It doesn't matter now. 

He feels the guilt like a physical pain, crippling and encompassing. It's hot and sharp under his skin, flaying him open and cauterizing the wounds so he can't even bleed it out. He's felt like this only a few times before, and every old ghost from his past rises anew. How could he let this happen again? 

How can they ever recover from this? What if they've lost too much? What if they never had anything at all? What if every fond moment and sweet gesture that Mark recalls is something else in Ethan's mind? 

To hear Ethan say that they're not friends, that they never were… Mark knows what that means. He knows that it's on him, his burden to bear, the Atlas he never wanted to be but became nonetheless, holding one person's world instead of the whole planet. He knows that keeping Ethan at arms distance, always present but never too close, made this happen. He knows exactly what Ethan means, because Ethan's not wrong. 

His words echo in Mark's mind, infused with a truth he can't ignore. He loves Ethan, of course he does, but maybe not in the way Ethan needs to be loved. 

The idea is hard for Mark to understand, but it's starting to make sense. 

Mark's love is defined by the fact that he lets people in. Trusting someone to be that close to him, to be a part of his life, is how Mark shows his love. Ethan's love is action, memory. From what Mark can tell, it’s the small moments of compassion, the thoughtful gestures, the acts of service. Ethan’s love is something different than Mark’s. Mark’s immediate thought is that it’s never been a problem before, but maybe that’s not true. Maybe he just wasn’t seeing it. This doesn’t feel like something that came out of nowhere - now that it’s finally reached the surface, Mark is starting to realize how deep this wound really is. 

Part of Mark wants to ignore it. Part of him wants to pretend all of this never happened, pretend he didn’t see how bad it really was, just go back to the way things were before. But it’s far too late for that. It’s already inside them, inside Mark. It hurts him too much, it's burrowed in too deep. He’s only felt pain like this a few times in his life, and every time it feels eternal, a pain he cannot possibly survive but cannot escape. 

It twists in his gut, aches in his bones. He can’t take it; he has to do something. He wipes at his eyes, gets to his feet, and there Ethan is, standing at the bottom of the stairs. 

Ethan smiles, and Mark wonders what they’ve lost. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've gotten this far, here's a little bit about me. The dynamic between these two is based on my personal experiences, wherein Ethan is me and Mark is the girl I was in love with for two years. It can be hard to realize that people, especially those you love, are different from you. I hope I did her and Mark justice. 
> 
> The next and final chapter will be up soon! Till then, stay safe and let me know what you think!   
> <3


	3. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just need to talk it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's literally so much dialogue in this chapter, but I guess it balances out the last chapter.  
> Fun fact, this fic is called "I hate this" in my Drive because for some reason I can't get any part of it to turn out right? All of it feels weird to me, but that might just be the quarantine mood.  
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this final chapter and feel like it wraps things up nicely.

As Ethan pads down the steps he spots Mark sitting on the couch, head in his hands. Discomfort squirms in Ethan’s chest, the memory of Mark’s pained face fresh in his mind. He makes it to the bottom of the stairs, but he doesn’t go any farther, just looking over at Mark, who’s staring at the floor, unmoving. Ethan hesitates. He’s not sure if he should go over to him, if either of them are ready for this conversation. Before he can decide to sneak back upstairs, however, Mark is wiping at his face, standing. He catches sight of Ethan immediately. Ethan chances a small smile at him. 

Mark doesn’t move, just looking back at Ethan with an unreadable expression. 

Ethan breaks eye contact first, going into the kitchen to grab his water bottle. The sink is empty, the dishes are away. Ethan thinks he can smell the sharp scent of cleaning products in the air. He sips at his water, looking around. Mark must have been up for a while. He watches Mark walk over to the table, pulling some objects wrapped in foil out of a paper bag. 

“Want some breakfast?” Mark asks, looking just below Ethan’s eyes. Ethan nods, coming to join Mark at the table. Mark gets himself a glass of water before sitting down as well, unwrapping his food. “The place I got this from is peanut-free,” Mark adds as Ethan picks up his burrito. 

“Did you order this?” Ethan asks. “You really didn’t -” 

“I wanted to,” Mark says quickly. 

They lapse into a tense silence. Ethan eats slowly, taking sips of water to quell his nausea. It's been a long time since he's felt like this around Mark - uncomfortable, unsure, hyper-aware of his every action. The room feels charged, the energy of all that Ethan said still lingering even now. He's not sure he wants to bring it up. Part of him wants to just pretend like nothing happened, just go back to how they were before. Sure, Ethan was miserable then, at times so sad that he could barely breathe through it, but it was better than this. At least he knew where he stood. He knew what he had to endure. This uncertainty is so much worse. 

It feels like they're breaking apart. He can't stop thinking of Mark's eyes last night, brimming with tears and pain. Because of Ethan. 

They need to clear the air. Ethan drinks his water while he waits for Mark to finish his food, watches Mark down the rest of his glass. He doesn't say anything as Mark gets up and throws his wrapper away, putting the cup in the dishwasher. Ethan gets up too, putting his half-finished meal in the fridge. The words feel like they're bubbling under his skin, but he's not sure what will come out when they boil over. The pressure is becoming almost unbearable; he has to speak or else he'll burst. Ethan opens his mouth to say - 

"Can we talk?" Mark asks. 

Ethan closes his mouth, nods, and follows Mark to the couch. They sit facing each other, legs half folded so they're sideways on the couch. Ethan fiddles with the hem of his shirt. The silence stretches thin, before snapping with a recoil that stings Ethan's skin. "I'm sorry," he blurts, twisting the fabric in his hands. He looks at Mark's shoulder when he says it. He's not sure he can watch Mark cry again. "I shouldn't have said all that stuff. It wasn't…" Ethan knows what he should say, what he needs to say, but the word gets stuck. 

"True?" Mark finishes. Ethan's eyes flick up to Mark's. "Don't lie," Mark echoes, the ghost of a smile on his face. Ethan almost flinches. "Tell me the truth, Ethan," Mark intones, eyes sad and soft. "Do you think we're friends?" 

"Yeah," Ethan answers instantly. His shirt is wrapped so tightly around his finger that it's starting to hurt. He uncoils it, rubbing at the seam. "Of course. We're…" The words are getting stuck again. "We're…" 

Mark tilts his head as Ethan fumbles. "That's not what you said last night." 

Ethan's eyes dart around the room. He wants to hide his face, he wants to hide his whole body, but Mark's intent gaze feels like razor sharp claws sinking into his skin - if he pulls away he'll rip himself apart. "I…" Ethan's hands knot in the fabric of his shirt. "I think you're a good friend." His eyes flicker up to meet Mark's before skittering away again. "And a good person. When you care about someone, you really care. You do a lot for people. You're smart. You're funny. I…" Ethan chews on his lip. His gaze drifts back to Mark, but doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I want to be around you. I like being around you." Ethan inhales and exhales, the air trembling as it leaves his body. "You're a good friend," he repeats. "Sometimes it just feels like we're… not. Friends, that is" 

Mark reaches out, putting his hand on Ethan's knee. It makes Ethan's fingers tingle, and he closes his eyes, words spilling out before he can stop them. "And that's - that's fine! I know it doesn't sound like it is, but I'm just - I shouldn't, ya know? And I can't - I don't want to force you to be my friend and - and it's fine that you're not." Ethan's out of breath, but he can't stop. "It just feels like - well sometimes you say things and - not that it's your fault, I just - sometimes it feels like you - we - are, but I know I shouldn't - and I probably sound crazy but I do want - I mean I just - I  _ wish  _ -" His voice starts to go raspy. Pressure builds in his throat, behind his eyes. He covers his face with his hands. 

Mark's thumb runs circles into Ethan's knee. "What do you wish?" Mark murmurs. 

Ethan takes a shuddering breath, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I wish I meant something to you," he chokes out. He tries to speak past the lump of emotion in his throat. "I want to be your friend  _ so bad _ , Mark." He laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. "You have no idea. But I just… I don't think I can keep pretending." Ethan lifts his head, wiping at his eyes. His hand comes away wet with tears. "Especially now," he starts, looking anywhere but at Mark. "It's hard. It's just… hard." 

“Because of quarantine?” Mark presses, gently, always gently. 

“Yes. No? I don’t know.” Ethan sniffles, rubbing at his nose. “It’s… everything. It’s because I can’t talk to anyone and I’m just alone all the time. I feel… my body  _ hurts,  _ all the time, and I’m so tired, but… It’s not just that, because doing this, doing Unus Annus with you and just  _ everything. _ I just don’t understand you. I don’t know if anything is real or if it’s a bit or if you really think that and I don’t feel like I can ask because sometimes it feels like you’re my best friend and sometimes it feels like we’re not close at all.” Ethan deflates. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.” 

Mark carefully pulls Ethan’s arms forward, cradling Ethan’s hands in his own. 

Ethan is quick to explain himself, knowing that Mark can feel his hands shaking. “But I still shouldn’t have said that stuff.” He stares at their hands. “This is all just my personal issues. You don’t need to do anything or whatever. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you just because -” 

“Ethan,” Mark says. Ethan's mouth snaps shut. “Listen to me.” Mark’s hands tighten around Ethan’s, and Ethan looks at Mark’s face for the first time in what feels like years. “This isn’t your fault,” Mark says, but his eyes glitter, and it makes Ethan’s stomach twist with guilt. “It’s not wrong to ask for what you need. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to say how you actually feel. I’m not going to hold that against you.” 

Ethan grips Mark’s hands, probably too tight, but he can’t let go, can’t look away. It feels like every part of him is tethered to Mark, to this moment, and if the rope snaps he’ll fall forever. 

“I thought about what you said,” Mark continues. He stares into Ethan’s eyes. He seems so sure, so  _ right.  _ “I haven’t been a good friend to you.” Ethan opens his mouth to protest, but Mark barrels on. “If you honestly believe we aren’t friends, I haven’t been a good friend to you. I want to be better, Ethan. I want you to know how -” Mark stops, swallows thickly. He looks away for a moment before he focuses back on Ethan. His jaw tightens. “How important you are to me.” Mark’s voice is thick. His eyes brim with tears. “You have made me into the person I am today. You’re part of my journey. You’ve helped me grow in so many ways. You are such an important part of my life and I’m sorry -” Mark inhales sharply. A tear slips down his cheek. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that, but I hope you know I - I love you. I don’t say it enough, but I really do.” 

Ethan crumbles, a sob bubbling out of him. Tears stream down his face. He can barely see Mark at this point, but he still throws himself into the man’s arms, pulling Mark into the tightest hug he can manage. Ethan clings to him, muffling his cries into Mark’s shoulder as he shakes uncontrollably. “I know,” he chokes out. 

Mark’s arms close around him, tight and sure, fingers digging into Ethan’s sides. “You don’t,” Mark mutters, pressing Ethan closer. “But that’s okay. Because I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

The words just make Ethan cry harder. He can’t stop it now, and he doesn’t have to, because Mark is just holding onto him, repeating that phrase over and over until Ethan starts to believe it. 

Deep down, some part of Ethan knows that Mark isn’t lying to him. Mark doesn’t have any reason to lie about this. Deep down, Ethan knows he has worth, that he’s more than what he feels at his lowest low. It might take some time for him to fully believe that. He might forget sometimes. But Mark will keep reminding him, keep telling him, until Ethan can remember for himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the end. This fic was a journey, especially with a topic that hits a little more close to home. I've gotten so much support for this fic and I loved hearing from everyone and getting involved in this community again, even in a small way like this. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, give kudos, or leave a comment! 
> 
> I'm finally going to get back to some of my other works in this fandom, and in the mean time, lmk what other stories you'd like, what you thought of this fic, or just your thoughts on the fandom! 
> 
> Much love, stay safe <3


End file.
